Since That Day
by darkblueballoon
Summary: Elaine, one of Arthur's grandchildren, is writing her grandfather's story, starting from the day of the wedding. It's a story of peace, war, hope, magic, betrayal and love.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters from the film, just the ones I will make for the benefit of the story. Thank you for your attention. BEEP.

Since That Day

Prologue

My grandfather is now three months dead and yet people still whisper his name with a mixture of awe fear and reverence. King Arthur of Britannia, the man who united the feuding peoples and gave them peace, whose armies drove back invading hordes time and time again.

But to me he is none of those things. He's just my grandfather. And elderly man always ready to smile for me or tell me a story of times gone by. I miss that steady presence even now, and I always will. Even those who never even set eyes on him feel like they had lost something of themselves when they heard news of his death. He was that kind of person. Or at least, that's the type person he was when he died.

It was in those last few hours that he asked me, Elaine, to tell his story and that of his Knights and the strange events that followed the coronation and wedding of him and my grandmother.

It is winter now and bitterly cold. My writing will be slow, and when the time comes for my words to be copied the scribes may not be able to read what I have written. But I must write, I want to write this tale. I shall start now, before my fingers turn numb and useless.

Like almost everything else in his life the strangeness started in the morning, just as the first rays of light were breaking over the rooftops…


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from the film. They are not born of my imagination and, alas, never will be. But I have created some of my own for the benefit of this fic.

Since That Day

Chapter One

_Now, just before I start, I must remind those who are reading this that the initial parts of this chronicling have been put together from stories I have been told by my grandfather, his friends, as well as the few believable rumours that never grew out of proportion. It is not an excuse for any errors in the story of my grandfather's life, merely the reason for their occurrence._

Dawn had just broken when there was a sharp banging on the door. Arthur mumbled irritably and, after unhooking Guinevere's arm from his waist, sat up.

"I'm awake! I'm awake!" Arthur answered another bout of knocking with sleep slurred words.

Groggily, he reached out to his clothes and somehow managed to put them on. He blinked to get the last of the sleep out of his eyes as he looked around for his boots – he knew they were there somewhere.

He was finally presentable when a third round of knocking came and he strode across the room, opening the door to come face to face with one of the fort's guards.

"There's a man in the council room, sir," the man spoke quickly, the syllables spilling out as a single word. "He refuses to speak to anyone but you."

Arthur nodded wearily and followed the guard as he hastily headed through corridors and down steps until they entered the large room, which was dominated by the circular table that would one day be famous.

At a gesture from Arthur the guard left the room, a grateful look on his face. That left Arthur and the visiting man. The man himself was a surprise. He was stocky, broad shouldered like a soldier would be. Yet he wore the garb of Roman officials. His was a little darker than the native people of Britain. That meant he was one of the few Romans who had decided to stay after the retreat of the others.

"I am deeply sorry, to wake you, my Lord," the other man started with a slight bow when nothing seemed to be forthcoming from Arthur.

The title made Arthur grimace. He may have been declared King, but as yet he had not adjusted to being addressed in a way that a Roman Emperor would have expected.

"But I bring urgent news from the south," the man looked about to continue when Arthur interrupted.

"And you are?" he asked sharply, for a moment not caring if he appeared rude.

"Larcius Ursus, aide to the Governor of Camulodunum," the man answered, turning a little red. "I was sent as a messenger. Large ships have been seen off of the coast, and there have been reports of small costal villages being attacked and people being taken."

Arthur nodded, absorbing the information. Attacks? Kidnappings? That did not bode well at all, especially when there had always been a strong garrison of troops in and around Camulodunum.

"Thank you, Larcius Ursus," Arthur had to struggle to find words that were polite. "If you would follow Jols he shall have a room prepared for you. Rest for today and return tomorrow."

The man bowed his head in thanks, and after looking around for Jols, who had just arrived, followed him out of the room.

"Jols, I want the others here as fast as possible," Arthur called down the now deserted hallway.

Walking over to his place at the table he sat down. With his elbows perched on the table, he rested his head in his hands, already exhausted. He had been accepted as ruler a mere week, and already it was all starting to go wrong. And he didn't even have Lancelot who, for all his hot headedness, often gave sound advice when he needed it.

He raised his head when he heard the hurried steps of the knights sometime later. Bors looked disgruntled, grumbling something about being in the middle of something. The others came in silently, looking a little anxious over what was to come.

"I've had news." Arthur started when the other had sat down only to be met with Bors demanding to know what type of news was important enough to require him having to be up and awake at this ungodly hour?

Arthur pulled a tight smile. It was something he should have expected. "There have been attacks to the south, along the east coast near Camulodunum. People in the coastal villages have either been killed or taken."

This announcement was met with an angry outburst from all around. Arthur raised his hand for quiet and was about to speak once more when a cry of alarm came from the door. Arthur rose from his seat to sigh in exasperation.

"Merlin, what brings you back? I thought you to be well on your way back north." Arthur was feeling a little on edge. Whenever he saw Merlin, something happened. Last time he was married, the time before that there had been a battle over who would have Britain. If things were to follow a pattern, this appearance would signify the start of another war.

"You look worried, Arthur," Merlin comment, an amused gleam in his eyes. "And I suppose we all should, but I also bring good news."

By now the other men in the room were staring open mouthed at the Woad.

"What type of good news?" Galahad asked, somewhat wary of what the answer may be.

In answer Merlin turned and left the room. A frantic whispering could be heard from the corridor, although none could make out what was being said. After what felt like an age the tones that wafted into the room sounded less worried and more in agreement.

When Merlin re-entered the room, he seemed to be smiling. Behind him three figures emerged from the shadows of the hallway. There were gasps followed by oaths and curses.

"What game is this?" Arthur demanded as he crossed himself. He had turned pale, and out of the corner of his eye he could just make out Bors spluttering in disbelief.

"'Tis no game, Arthur," Merlin replied, his voice completely level. "They are needed."

"They're dead! We dug the graves, said the prayers." Arthur didn't know what he was saying; the words came unbidden and passed his lips. He knew what he saw before him, but his rational mind told him that it couldn't be true. All he had seen and believed told him that it couldn't be true.

"Arthur, isn't that what they said of your Lord Jesus, he rose from death?" Merlin asked. "You believe that that happened, yes?" He watched Arthur nod his head in answer. "Then why will you not accept this? They have roles to play yet in the future of our land. They are to be in this world for a little while longer."

Arthur could do nothing but stand and blink, all thoughts of the south gone for there before him stood Lancelot, Dagonet and Tristan. Their faces were specked with mud, but there they stood as they looked before the whole sorry business north, and south of Hadrian's Wall that had taken their lives.

_I know it sounds unbelievable, and I would be questioning my own sanity were it not for having seen where Arthur and his other knights had buried these men as well as seeing them walk around, riding, drink and sing. I assure you now that it is not a fabrication._

_I will tell you the reason that Merlin gave for this miraculous event when I receive more paper and ink, as my supplies have already ran out._


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters found the film.

I would like to thank the people who have reviewed. I'm glad someone likes my story. So thanks goes out to **homeric **and **I Fancy Hugh Dancy**.

**homeric**, you will find out soon enough, but not just yet.

Since That Day

Chapter Two

"But… But…." Arthur stood unable to express his utter disbelief at what he saw before him. To see three people he called friends standing in front of him, not a month after he had put their bodies in the ground… If he didn't know the others could see them two, he would have considered his sanity lost.

"Sit down Arthur," Merlin said evenly, although his eyes showed a mixture of amusement and irritation. "And you others, too," he added, meaning all of Arthur's knights, not just the three who had been in the room from the start.

There was a few seconds silence as the revelation continued to sink to them all, and then, suddenly, everyone seemed to be talking at the same time. Galahad seemed to be jumping up and down cheering. Gawain was shouting something to Bors who was now hopping about quite idiotically, gesturing for the bemused looking Dagonet to sit next to him. Lancelot looked like he was trying to laugh, but seemed to have forgotten how. Tristan was as silent as ever as he watched the scene with about as much interest as a biologist studying a pack of over excited monkeys. And Arthur, at a loss for anything better to do, had slumped back onto him chair.

When silence fell once more, everyone having found their way back to their respective seats, Merlin cleared his throat, looking quite daunted at the task that lay before him. In all the long years of his by no means short life he had never had to explain some of the secrets of his people to a group of foreigners, albeit foreigners he was glad to call allies.

As the people in the room turned to look at him, a sense of expectancy seemed to fill the room. They weren't making his task easy by any means.

"There are certain times each year when the walls that separate this life from the next become extremely thin," Merlin started, thankful that his audience had understood him thus far. "At these times it is possible, if the Gods will it, to travel to the Netherworld and bring a needed soul back to this one. Do not ask me to tell you any more details, for I cannot divulge those secrets. All you need to know or understand is that two nights ago a part of me crossed over into that place and brought the souls of Lancelot, Dagonet and Tristan back to their bodies. Do not ask me why they look as they not and not as they should, just know that until their names are called from the Netherworld once again they will live and age once more."

Arthur sat in silence, as did everyone else, for a long while after that. His green eyed gaze shifting slowly between the three knights who had been returned him and the others that cared about them. Now, as he looked he saw the certainty return to Dagonet's eyes. He saw Lancelot give the smile that had been threatening as he saw the stunned faces around him. And Tristan, as ever, was almost impossible to read; although he had the sense that despite his solitary nature he was pleased to find that he had been missed out of genuine friendship.

As he flicked his eyes back to Dagonet, an image of Lucan flashed in front of him. Someone should send for the boy. Arthur knew that he had become attached to the large knight who had cared for him. Since his death he had seemed lost. He would tell the boy himself, he decided. But not yet, he had to sort a few important things out here before he could allow time for private reunions.

"I think I understand," Arthur said, gesturing to take a seat if he so wished. It was partly true, but Arthur couldn't stop the flood of questions like what happened? What does it mean for them? Is there anything else we should know, all of us? And, most importantly, what really happened? But those questions could wait for later. "And I thank you, for whatever you consider my thanks to be worth," he added, ever aware that Merlin was a leader of men also. "But there is news that stops me from feeling the joy I should."

As soon as he said those words, he felt the atmosphere in the room change and not for the better. Every seemed to become downcast, almost sullen. He did not want to have to tell them of the weight that lay upon his shoulders that would probably end up affecting them all, but he had to let them know.

"Earlier this morning, I received news from the south. Rather disturbing news." Arthur watched as the expressions on the faces changed to those of anxiety except, of course, for the ever-impassive Tristan. "There have been raids on coastal settlements near the city of Camulodunum. In these raids, many people have been killed and some have been taken."

As the last of his walls echoed off the cold, stonewalls, the room erupted with angry noise. It was hard to make out what different men were saying but the general feeling was obvious: they had laid their lives in the line for the people of the island, and they weren't going to let that go to waste. Even Tristan broke from tradition and sat grumbling to himself.

"Men!" Arthur had to shout above the din, which quietened almost instantly. "I have a plan, and I want to know what your opinions are." There were approving nods from all around the table and Arthur took it as the signal to begin his explanation. "The fighting season is not far off, and I want to know exactly what is happening as much as possible. My idea is this: Move men from Aquae Sulis, Glevum and Venta to Camulodunum for now. I think I should go and find out for myself what is happening as well, so I will leave soon." He stopped at the wall of protests he met with his last statement, but he shrugged in a non-committed way and carried on. "I also think we should levy all the able bodied men and train them in the basic methods of fighting, just in case the situation escalates."

Arthur considered these points reasonable, but from someone of the outraged looks on the men's faces, there was something that did not go down well. It was, in the end, Lancelot who enlightened him as to what was bothering them.

"You can't seriously be considering going there yourself?" Lancelot's dark eyes burned as he looked at Arthur. "You don't even know who it is you could be running headlong to fight!"

The others nodded in agreement until Galahad entered the conversation.

"I don't the idea of these attacks." His voice was solemn; he had never been one to take much joy from fighting. "But… I think that someone should find out what is happening. Now, I, as a member of your council don't think you should go outside this fort with none but those Roman stay behinds at your back." This brought forth a rumble of accord from the others. "And I also know that you're a stubborn bastard. Nothing will stop you going. That being the case, I think we should go with you."

"Galahad, are you a lawyer or a soldier?" Gawain's good-natured aside and the laughter that followed seemed to ease the tension in the air.

"Is that what you all think?" Arthur asked the assembly. There were nods of affirmation. "Alright, we will leave tomorrow."

Silence reigned yet again until it was broken by the sound of someone's stomach growling.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going to find some food." Bors rose and started for the exit. One by one, everyone else in the room followed suit, and within seconds it was empty and a few minutes later the men had congregated in the tavern.

Galahad had managed to coax Tristan into talking. Now, he, Tristan and Gawain were telling each other jokes with the boyish intention of seeing who could come up with the best. Surprisingly, it was Tristan. Not quarter of an hour after the competition had begun, Galahad and Gawain were creased up with laughter, tears spilling down their faces as they clutched at their sides. Tristan was quiet once more, though a small smile seemed to have snuck up on him as he watched the two men dissolve into giggling laughter usually found in a pair of eight years olds.

Arthur had kept to his decision and found Lucan, who was now sitting on one side of Dagonet looking up at the large knight, a huge grin threatening to break his young face in two. On Dagonet's other side sat Bors, telling all that had happened in his absence, including Gilly's successes in boyhood fights.

Lancelot was sat in companionable silence with Arthur, as both tried to accept the change in reality

By the end of the day, the shock seemed to have worn off a great deal. Unusually, the knights retired early. It had been a tiring day, and tomorrow would be exhausting in a different way.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

_There. I wrote this as soon as the new materials arrived. I hope that some questions have been answered, as I have written all I ever learned of the strange resurrection of the three knights._

_I remember when my brothers and I first heard this story. It was from Bors, who I don't think has changed much over the years. I remember sitting in silence for a long as I tried to believe him. It must have been even stranger experiencing it first hand._

_Those of you who are reading my little notes, I know they are a waste of good paper, but to write this I must sort through all that I have ever learned. Would you have me forget to jot down some important detail? No? Then these I must use._

_These pages will now go to a monk who will check my spelling and grammar before it is sent to others monasteries to be copied by different monks as my father has declared that a record of my grandfather's many achievements shall be kept in each city. _


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the movie.

I would like to thank **homeric** for reviewing again. Right now I am on a natural high after getting my GCSE results. 3 A stars 4 As and 3 Bs! Whoot! Hmm, yes. Hope anyone else who got their results today did well. Here's the next chapter, hope you like it.

Since That Day

Chapter Three

The next morning Arthur woke a good while before dawn, with a strange sense of unease. Looking about him, he saw Guinevere asleep, a slight frown creasing her brow. She hadn't much liked his decision to investigate the attacks himself. It had lead to a heated argument and had done little to help him sleep. And now he would likely be leaving with the bitterness still in the air between them.

Quickly he dressed in plain clothes and a scuffed pair of boots. He walked to the door, his eyes looking blindly down at the floor. Just before he left the room, he turned to look once more at his wife. He sighed, deep and heavy. He could only hope that she would have calmed down by the time he returned.

As he made his way to the stables, he was revising the best course for the long journey to Camludonum. They would go as directly south as the land allowed, and would then cut east until they reached the city gates. From there, he would decide on events as they happened. In the past he had learned that if you don't leave a leeway when planning, said plan would undoubtedly end up failing. So flexibility it was.

When he entered the stables he found Tristan, Gawain and Galahad already there, their horses tacked and waiting. The deep blue of the sky was now slowly fading into the rainbow display of sunrise.

"Weather's going to be good. Clouds, but there shouldn't be any rain," Tristan spoke as he adjusted his horse's saddle.

"How do you always know these things?" Gawain asked, peevish from lack of sleep, or ale. Arthur couldn't be sure.

Tristan just shrugged his shoulders, and turned his attention back to his horse, muttering calm, soothing words to the stallion as he tossed his head in agitation.

"Why does he have so much time for that bloody horse, and barely a second for any of us?" Galahad as he moved to refill the trough in his horse's stall.

"Because it's smarter than you'll ever be, Galahad." Gawain's answer managed to make even Tristan twitch his mouth into a shadow of a smile.

Arthur walked over to where his horse was pushing the straw around as if to say 'is this the best you have to offer?' Ducking under the rope that kept the beast confined, he stroked the horse's neck, and muttered a few words of encouragement in his ear.

Some men saw horses as nothing but useful pieces of equipment to be thrown away when they were of no more use. Arthur and his knights did not. Man and horse worked as part of a team, each as valuable as the other. To his mind any of the horses taking shelter inside the stables were worth a king's ransom. Arthur knew that each knight had his own little ritual, which he followed without fail.

It was some time later that the other knights entered the stables to prepare for the journey. When Dagonet arrived, he had Lucan in tow as if the boy was afraid that the quiet man would disappear again if he took his eyes off of him for a second.

It wasn't long after that the knights were assembled in the courtyard ready for the long trek south. Civilians and fort guards alike a gathered to see them off, and frightened whispers followed Tristan, Lancelot and Dagonet where ever they went.

Arthur watched as Vanora pushed her way to the front of the crowd, looking slightly dishevelled. Bors dismounted and walked to meet her. Van started saying something, but Arthur couldn't hear what the words were.

Then abruptly, Dgaonet dismounted and for a long moment stood looking from Lucan's face to Vanora before walking up the couple.

"Van, would you keep an eye on Lucan until I return?" Dagonet's voice sounded earnest.

After a pause, Vanora nodded. "Of course, Dag," she replied, smiling down at the boy.

Although Arthur couldn't see his face properly, he did manage to see some of the tension leave Dagonet's body, as he knew that Lucan would be left in good hands. Arthur continued to watch as Dagonet squatted down so his eyes were level with the boy's.

"I'll return soon," Dagonet rested his hand on the boy's shoulder, and Arthur just managed to catch the delighted look on the boys face before it disappeared. "I want you be good. You listen to Van and you'll be fine."

Arthur stopped watching to look across the courtyard to where his room was. The window was open and he could see Guinevere standing with her arms crossed as she looked out at him.

When he turned his attention back to his knights, Dag and Bors were back in their saddles and he could see all of them growing restless. The sooner they went, the sooner they would return.

Arthur turned his horse about and someone opened the gates. Then, with a quick gesture from his hand he spurred his horse into a trot, then a canter and he could hear the knights downing the same behind him.

Briefly, he turned his head to look back at the fort. He saw Dagonet quickly do the same, and Bors, too, before they all turned their attention to the road ahead.

As night was falling, Tristan returned to the small band of men with a good, sheltered place to rest for the night.

It wasn't long before the horses were tethered to the trees and a fire had been lit. The men gathered around it, their faces flickering orange in the glow of the flames. As usual, the conversation turned from what lay ahead to what had already happened.

"You never did that, Lancelot. I was there. I know," Gawain contested something as he waved a hunk of bread at Lancelot in mock anger. "It was Bors. And Tristan. You couldn't shoot straight if your life depended on it."

"That was a good day, whether Lancelot hit the long shot or not." Galahad interrupted as he saw Lancelot about to take offence.

"D'you remember Culhwch?" Dagonet asked.

There were nods, and a grunt from Tristan, whose eyes had glazed over slightly at the mention of the name.

"You two made a good team. We could use him here now, what with all those languages he learned," Daginet said, then looked upset when he saw how ashen Tristan's face had turned. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

Tristan shook his head, and licked his lips. "I still miss him," Tristan revealed. "I'm glad our parents will never learn of what happened to him. Roman bastards," he added, as he stared into the fire, his expression a mixture of pain, anger and sadness.

The other knights were silent for a long time after that. It was rare that Tristan ever told anyone what he was feeling and whenever he did it left the air heavy as though he was releasing his demons into the world about him.

"He was a good man, Tristan. A good man," Lancelot finally said, all of his front and swagger gone.

Arthur, like the rest, was thing of all the comrades they had lost over the years. Some of those losses had been harder to bear than others but that didn't lessen the stab through the heart he felt each time he saw the empty spaces at his round table.

"It's time we slept. We still have a long way to go tomorrow, and the day after." Arthur said after another drawn out silence.

There was a flurry of activity as men moved away from the fire and four lay down rest while the other two kept watch. It wasn't long before it became quiet, the silence broken by the occasional snore and the sound of insects starting to come out of their daytime hiding places.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

_I remember the subject of Culhwch came up one night in the feasting hall. I was just a girl, four or five, but I still remember the look on Tristan's face as he heard an old Roman legionary say that he deserved what he got. It took three young men to stop him cutting the man's throat. I hope I never have to know how he felt. I couldn't bare to lose Igraine, Kai or Sevi. _


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from the film, just the ones I have created.

Thanks to everyone who has read the story so far, I hope you like what you read. Here's the next installment.

Since That Day

Chapter Four

Over the days that followed, Arthur kept a close watch on his knights. He watched how they seemed to have returned to how they had been before, as if they had never been separated. Only little things seemed to have changed, on the surface at least.

Lancelot seemed disturbed. He wasn't sleeping as he should. Arthur had woken, or turned from his watch many times to see his best friend staring up at the stars as though the rest of the world ceased to exist. Many times, Arthur had felt the need to ask Lancelot about it. If something was bothering his friend, he wanted it resolved as soon as possible. But each time he was about to ask, something held him back and the words never came.

Tristan, he noted, was very quiet, even by his standards. He suspected that bad memories were preying heavily on the scout's mind, but it had always been hard to probe Tristan, it would be even more so now that he had voiced his thoughts. In the past whenever anyone had been taken into Tristan's confidence, everyone would have to pay the price of him being overly guarded in future conversations.

And Dagonet. It didn't take an old friend to see the anxiety written on the man's face. Ruthless when he had to be, he was also a healer. If things were as bad as they had been led to believe along the coast, then his skills would be needed for aiding any survivors there were to be found.

But those three were the only ones who seemed to have great weights on their minds. The closer they got to their destination the quieter the air between the men seemed to grow. It bothered Arthur immensely. So much so that he was glad to see the vast tracts of farmland that showed they were getting closer to Camulodunum.

When the wall that surrounded the large city of Camulodunum came into view on the horizon, the sun was at its zenith but they still spurred their horses on. As they drew closer, the wall grew taller and taller. Every now and then they could see the sun reflecting off of highly polished armour as sentries patrolled the wall. Obviously, the Governor was taking no chances.

When they came to the gates, they found them closed, and before them stood two soldiers, their faces young behind the rusted cheek guards of the old centurion helmets. They shifted uncomfortably under Tristan's baleful stare and at the sight of the array of evil looking weapons strapped to the knight's saddles.

"Are you Lord Arthur and his Knights?" one of the guards asked, making a visible effort not to baulk before the knights.

Arthur nodded his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lancelot trying to hide a smirk. From behind him, he could hear Galahad and Gawain whispering to each other.

The two guards seemed to relax fractionally. "Then we are to escort you to the Governor's villa."

With that, the gates were pushed open, releasing the sounds of the bustling city beyond. As they followed the two guards down what appeared to be the main thoroughfare through the city, the crowds fell silent until all the knights had passed and then the whispering could start, quiet and getting louder as people regained their confidence. It wasn't long before everyone in the city knew of the arrival of Arthur and his famous Knights.

The knights were not immune to the attention they were drawing from the locals. Arthur turned more than once to see Lancelot smiling at some pretty face in the gathering crowd.

It seemed like an age had passed before the knights were ushered into the courtyard of an immaculately kept villa. Grooms rushed forward to take the horses' bridles as the knights dismounted and started to congregate in one corner of the courtyard. A few seconds later a man Arthur assumed to be the Governor's steward came out to meet them, muttering formal greetings all the way to the villas audience room.

The audience room was large, even by the standards of the huge villa they found themselves in. The walls were decorated with hangings and the floor was one intricate mosaic whose tiles were warmed by the warm water that ran through pipes beneath their feet. The room was fitted with gaudy Roman furniture that made the knights wince at the sight of it.

Upon one coach lounged a middle aged, over weight man – the living stereotype of a selfish Roman in the minds of the knights. At the sight of the men walking into the room, the man abruptly rose to his feet looking somewhat flustered.

"Oh, Arthur… Um…" he ran a podgy hand through his thinning hair. "Do take a seat all of you. Do. Do," he continued hurriedly, waving his hands in the direction of the other sofas.

The knights stayed where they were, looking dubiously at the furniture but Arthur took up the offer, thanking his host most graciously.

"Would you care for anything to-" the Governor started only to be interrupted by Arthur.

"Governor, what can you tell me about these attacks I've been informed of?" Arthur spoke leaning forwards in his seat towards the Governor who was now perched on the edge of his sofa looking a little unsure of himself before a man of higher standing than himself which brought smiles to the faces of all the knights.

"Well, the first reports came in three weeks ago," answered the man. "A small number of ships were seen just off the coast. The attacks come at night. Whoever it is behind them have thus far left no one living behind, or rather, none that were living when my men reach the villages."

"How many villages have been attacked so far?" Arthur asked, his voice calm despite the fact that inside he was seething. None left alive? He was facing barbarians.

"Twelve that we know of," replied the man reluctantly.

"Twelve? Twelve!" Lancelot was fuming. "You've stood by and allowed twelve villages to be razed to the ground and their people murdered or taken?" Lancelot only stopped his tirade when one of his fellow knights clapped a calloused hand over his mouth.

"And what have you done to try and counteract these attacks?" Arthur demanded, throwing a quick glare in Lancelot's direction that said, 'be calm or keep quiet'.

"I have sent out patrols to villages that should be most at risk. Most of my men are out watching for the ships as we speak. I would pull the people inland who have stayed on the coast, but that would be too impractical and expensive."

"You that you-"

Arthur stopped and got to his feet when a boy ran into the room, his chest heavy like a set of billows. He had been crying, Arthur could see the tracks the tears had left running down his mucky cheeks. He was a thin, gangling youth who couldn't have seen more than thirteen summers.

"Sir," he gasped between breaths. "My village (gasp) has been (gasp) attacked! My father sent me when he saw them coming," he stopped and Arthur could see his eyes glisten with more tears.

"Where's your village? Who attacked you?" Arthur demanded to know, striding forwards and taking the boy by the shoulders, and forcing the boy to make eye contact.

"Othona, south east of here," the boy answered quickly. "We don't know who they are. They come from the sea."

Arthur released the boy so suddenly he stumbled backwards, only regaining his balance at the last minute.

"Right, you heard him," Arthur started forwards before turning back and steering the boy in front of him. "We will leave for this Othona now. You, boy, what's your name?" Arthur asked the boy distractedly as he started to leave the room the way he had entered.

"Cadan," the boy answered as they stepped out into the courtyard.

"Cadan, you will ride with me. You will take us to your village." Arthur words were unintentionally sharp, but he saw the boy square his shoulders.

As Arthur continued forward one of the grooms brought his horse forward and kept hold of the reigns as Arthur deposited Cadan in the saddle before jumping up behind. Arthur looked around to see his knights settling themselves in their own saddles. When he was sure they were all ready to ride, he kicked the stallion forwards and when he left through the city gates he was travelling at a gallop.

"Which way?" Arthur asked Cadan, who pointed out the way. Arthur twitched the reigns and they were on their way, no one in the party knowing what they were see when they arrived at the boy's home.

What they found was a ruin, not a village, with its assailants long gone. They had seen the black smoke curling up into the city from a distance and Arthur had felt his stomach turn. As they drew closer they saw roofs caved in and a few chickens wandering aimlessly around keeping a good distance from the flames.

At the edge of the village, they dismounted, Arthur helping Cadan when he insisted on helping them search the village.

They weren't five paces past the first burning house when Galahad cursed drawing their attention. He had found the body of what had once been a man lying in a doorway, his face distorted by a thick layer of blood.

Arthur looked down at Cadan to see the boy's face turn white and his eyes grow wide. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder in a feeble attempt to offer sympathy and strength.

"I must find my father and Bedwyr," Cadan said, looking uncertainly about him.

Arthur regretted agreeing to let the boy help. But at the same time he knew that the boy would have to see it at some point. He didn't ask who Bedwyr was.

At that point the knights separated and searched the village by ones and twos for any survivors.

Cadan walked with a steady tread Arthur knew he would not have managed at his age. Arthur followed, feeling responsible for the boy. He followed him to a house on the other side of the village.

Cadan stopped at the threshold and turned his head to look up at Arthur. Looking back at the doorway, Cadan stepped into the house, crouching low to keep his head away from the low, burning roof. Almost instantly he covered his mouth and nose with one of his hands. Arthur watched him look around in the shadows. When Arthur thought the boy wouldn't find anything, he heard Cadan gasp.

Cadan reached out to a lump on the ground and Arthur saw his bony hand shake. As he eyes adjusted to the flickering light, Arthur saw Cadan let his hand hover over someone's mouth and nose. For an agonising few seconds before Arthur heard Cadan gasp, but there wasn't a note of grief in the sound, just a gleam in his eye as he turned to look at Arthur.

"It's Bedwyr. He's still alive," Cadan sad in wonder.

With that, Arthur moved forward, ducking his head low and after squeezing past Cadan he managed to awkwardly lift the limp form and bring him out into the cleaner air.

"Dag! We've found someone!" Arthur shouted, as he rested the body on a clear patch of grass a little way away from the village.

Cadan knelt down beside the body, his eyes wide and tears were running freely down his cheeks. When Dagonet arrived and knelt down opposite him, Cadan looked at him with eyes blinded by tears of joy.

As Arthur watched Dagonet pull a small bottle out of a bag he had been carrying with him through the village he heard someone walk up behind him. Turning around, he saw Tristan standing behind him with something in his hands.

"What is it?" he asked, extending his hand for whatever trinket Tristan had found. It was an item of jewellery made from crude golden beads strung on a strip of gold wire.

"It doesn't belong here," Tristan stated.

"Why?" Arthur asked, a little puzzled as the other knights started to gather around as they gave up their searches as pointless.

"It isn't Roman, it isn't Briton. It doesn't belong in this village."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

_I remember that I cried the first time I heard Cadan's story. I don't know why, I just did. He may be little more than a child, over time he would prove important. But I will say no more on that matter now. I am stopping now. Once again I have ran out of supplies and must wait for more. Later today a monk is going to come a collect the sheets I have written._

_I thought that this would be an easy task. But the more I write, the more I begin to understand why they turned my grandfather into a legend. It may not be visible through my words, but he was a complicated person. Hard to understand. Legends take little working out, it is easier for people to think of him as something better, than to try and understand him._


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: **I only own the characters, scenarios etc. that I created myself.

Thank you **homeric **for reviewing again. I think Cadan's here to stay... but I still haven't made up my mind for sure. Here's the next chapter, later and longer than any of the others. Hope you readers like it. Please r/r.

Since That Day

Chapter Five

It was some time later that Arthur finally stopped studying the peculiar item of jewellery. It had been firmly established that any professional smith didn't make it. Cadan had paused in his watch over his brother's body to tell them that were no apprentice smiths in his village, and even if there were no one was wealthy enough to afford to use gold as a practise material. This left the jewellery belonging to one of the village's attackers, but that was all the style of the thing showed them.

They stayed in the village that night. Arthur and Dagonet alternating in sitting with Cadan while he watched his brother's for a sign of life other than the rise and fall of his chest. Dagonet had told him early on that Bedwyr had to be made of sterner stuff than many of fully-grown soldiers he had met to still be breathing. Cadan swelled with pride on his brother's behalf, but wasn't sure whether or not to take hope from what he had been told.

Quickly after the initial hubbub of finding Bedwyr and the necklace the many of the knights had returned to their searches. As each of them returned to the fire that had been lit near the boy's body the knight would see Cadan looking expectantly at him. His hopeful smile would falter then collapse when he saw that they brought no one with them. It was only later that they learned from Arthur that Cadan was waiting for them to find his father.

"At least the boy still has his brother," Galahad whispered as he looked towards the boy.

"But for how much longer?" Lancelot had been unusually glum and pessimistic since they had found Bedwyr's body.

It was Arthur who was sitting with the boy when Tristan rode up to their small camp, having gone further towards the coast in search of anything import, whether it was more survivors or clues as to the origins of the attackers.

Tristan dismounted and tethered his horse to a tree. Arthur saw him reach to pull something out of one of his saddlebags and he turned and walked over to them, much to his commander's astonishment.

"Here, take this. It's cold tonight, it will keep you warm," he said crouching down beside the boy, a thick woollen blanket in his outstretched hand. Arthur was surprised to see compassion in the scout's gaze as the boy accepted the blanket, bowing his head in thanks.

"Did you find anything?" Arthur asked as Tristan rose to leave them.

Tristan shook his head. "More dead. All the way to coast," Tristan expanded a little before going to sit with the others.

Arthur turned his attention back to the boy. As he watched he could almost feel the turmoil that the boy must be feeling. It would be a mixture of grief over his father, who could only be dead, anger, and worry and maybe relief that Bedwyr had been found at all. It was a feeling he, and all his knights, had felt at least once. He under why Tristan had given the boy the blanket and it had little to do with the cold that was accompanying the dark skies. Tristan had lost his brother and had never been quite the same ever since. He had the greatest idea of how Cadan what Cadan would be feeling as he stared down at the youthful face of his brother. Offer the gift was the closest Tristan had come to showing a fellow human sympathy for many a year.

"What is he like, this Bedwyr?" Arthur asked Cadan.

"He's two years younger than me," Cadan spoke without looking up. "He was always saying how he would grow up to be like one of your knights – one of the best warriors people had ever seen." As he spoke these words he did look up just long enough for Arthur to see the embarrassed smile Cadan had forced upon his face. "He would pester our Da for hours until he would give him a lesson with a bow or short sword. Da was the best fighter in the village, you know," Cadan's voice was seeped with pride as he spoke of his father.

"The village men learn to fight?" Arthur was a little surprised. All the villagers he had met up to that point had concerned themselves almost solely with their menial tasks leaving the art of fighting to those employed to it. But with that thought, his mind summoned an image of Ganis, the villager who had pledged himself to Arthur's service. He had just been a common villager, but he had still held his own against the Saxons when they attacked the wall.

"My father's people were once some of the best fighter's of all the tribes," Cadan said. "No one has forgotten it, even after all these years. And not just the men. Before my aunt moved to her husbands village there wasn't a man alive who would make her angry without good reason."

Arthur was surprised to hear those words coming from the boy's mouth. They sounded like something that would come from a Woad, not a boy from this far south of the wall, or maybe even one of his knights refusing to leave behind the customs of their homeland. He had the uncomfortable sensation that this slip of a boy was lecturing him.

Cadan's attention turned back to his brother when he heard a hiss of breath.

"Bedwyr!" Cadan as he leaned forward to look down at his brother's face.

Arthur turned his attention back to the younger boy as he called out for Dagonet to come, ignoring the possibility of waking the other knights at the same time. He looked down at Bedwyr's face. Even the orange glow of the fire failed to hide how pale he was.

As Dagonet knelt down beside him, Bedwyr tried to turn his bandage swathed head so he could see whom the strangers were. Even that slight shift in position forced the boy to squeezing his eyes shut and bite his lower lip in pain.

As Dagonet leaned forward to check Bedwyr's cuts and gashes Arthur heard him talk in a quiet, soothing voice much as he had done with Lucan. Arthur flicked his gaze to Cadan to see the boy looking anxiously between Dagonet and his brother.

"He'll get better, won't he?" he asked Dagonet, wanting to be reassured that this was just one step in the right direction. "Won't he?"

Dagonet refused to answer until he had checked and re-bandaged all the wounds, which by firelight was no easy task, before answering the question.

"He'll do well," he said, smiling down encouragingly at Cadan before looking to Arthur. "We need to get him to a proper shelter, but with those hurts he shouldn't ride for some time. The pain worries me as well but I have nothing to give him."

Arthur looked down at the young boy's face. That was all it took to understand that the boy was in an awful lot of pain, but Arthur saw him clench his jaw, preparing himself for speech.

"Who are you?" Bedwyr spoke quietly.

"It's Arthur," Cadan answered quickly before looking at Dagonet, squinting his eyes at him as he tried to remember the large man's name. "And… Dagonet?"

Cadan smiled when he saw Bedwyr put on a brave face to try and impress the two men who were leaning over him.

"I can ride, sir. Honest." Then, as if to prove his point, he slowly lifted his head. Every few seconds he would give a small wince but he somehow managed to force himself into a sitting position, and he stayed sitting up despite the pained expression on his face.

"If I can sit up, I can ride," he paused, using just his eyes to look from one man to the other. "Can't I?"

Arthur and Dagonet looked at each other for a long moment before Dagonet answered.

"He may be able to travel, as long as the horses stay at a walk. But we would still have to get him on the animal's back. If this lad is as strong as he appears, he should make it."

Arthur nodded. "It's should be dawn soon. You two boys try and get some sleep, there'll be a lot for you to do tomorrow."

Bedwyr tried to smile up at Arthur but stopped when the cuts on his left cheek stung. Instead, he allowed himself to be laid gently back on the grass. He murmured an embarrassed 'thank you' when Arthur laid his own cloak over him to keep him warm. He moved awkwardly as he tried to pull the cloth tighter around him. A couple of seconds later he felt Cadan laying down beside him, felt him fidget as he wrapped himself up in Tristan's blanket.

Arthur and Dagonet stayed near the two boys until both had fallen asleep and only then did they find places for themselves to get a few hours sleep before the sun rose.

When dawn did break, all of the knights were up quickly, striding purposefully about as they repacked there things so the journey back to Camulodunum. As they moved about the make shift camp, each of the knights would cast concerned glances at the two boys, even Tristan seemed to have taken an interest in their well being.

"We should wake them soon," Arthur told no one in particular.

"Leave 'em a little longer, Arthur. They both deserve their rest," replied Galahad as he paused beside the two.

But at that moment, Cadan's eyes fluttered open. For a moment he looked bewildered but then his expression cleared and he sat up to look down at his brother's sleeping form. The look on his face was such a mixture of different emotions that it was rendered unreadable.

But as Cadan gaze didn't waver, the knights turned and really looked at the injured boy for the first time. His face was bruised and puffy but his features looked strong. His hair was the colour of pale copper and would probably hang down to his shoulders if he were to sit up. Like his brother, he gave the impression of being stretched being long and thin. His bones looked like they lacked flesh and substance. His forehead was lost under layers of bandage and there were other strips of cloth wrapped around his arms where he had probably been cut whilst trying to defend himself. Beneath the thin material of his tunic they could see the shadow of the shadow of the bandage that encircled his ribs. Although in bad shape at that moment in time he looked as though he had the potential to become a man of proportions to rival Dagonet if could only survive his ordeal.

Natural progression led the men to take another closer look at Cadan. He carried the same coppery hair, though it seemed to reach no further than half way between his jaw line and his shoulder. Although he too was skinny he seemed to be filling out. The one feature they could not compare was the eyes. Cadan's were a startling blue.

The knights continued with their various tasks as Cadan untangled a hand from the blanket and rested it on his brother's shoulder, which he shook gently. Just as Bedwyr opened his eyes, which were as grey as the overcast sky above, Dagonet came and knelt at his side.

He checked the by over again and nodded, satisfied that he would be well on his way to recovery as long as one of the cuts didn't get infected with the green rot. He had decided he would keep a close eye on the cut on his chest. It stretched diagonally from right to left and the hasty stitches he had used to bring the edges together would have to be replaced with neater ones once they reached the city. As to his riding on one of horses it was a necessity they couldn't avoid.

Once the check was over, Cadan seemed to take notice of the world beyond his brother. He looked down at the blanket, which still covered his legs. Scrambling to his feet, he looked left and right for the tattooed knight who had given it to him. Arthur saw what he was doing and gestured in the direction of the man. He was standing apart from the others adjusting the horse's saddle.

So, bundling up the blanket he walked quickly over to him, all the while casting watchful glances over his shoulder to where Dagonet seemed to be trying to pick his brother up while trying not to cause him pain. He couldn't say why, by he trusted the large, quite man. His brother would be in good hands while he returned the blanket.

As he approached the knight, Tristan turned around to face him, his head titled slightly to the side making Cadan feel like he was a mouse being trailed by a hawk.

"Um… Thank you for lending it to me," Cadan managed to stammer out as he extended the bundle in his hands out towards the intimidating man before him.

Tristan nodded and took the blanket, folding it with quick, deft movements before pushing it down into one of the saddlebags before turning his head to look down at the boy.

"Look after your brother, boy. Keep an eye on him," Tristan's voice was quiet and edged with an emotion that the boy couldn't define. With that the knight turned back to the horse and Cadan turned and left, mulling over what he had just been told.

Arthur watched the scene from the other side of the smoking pile of tinder that had replaced the fire. Turning his gaze to Dagonet he saw the man walking slowly towards his horse, the other boy, Bedwyr, cradled gently in his arms. He walked in the same direction and reached the creature at the same time as Cadan, but after Dagonet.

The two watched as Dagonet did his best to deposit Bedwyr, who was still wrapped in Arthur's cloak, on the horse's back with out jarring any of his cuts and bruises.

Just as Bedwyr was finally in place, held steady by the supporting hand of the healer knight, Cadan turned to see a stocky man leading his horse towards them.

"Don't worry, your brother's in the best hands," Bors said as he saw the boy looking apprehensively up at his brother.

"The others are all ready to go, Arthur," he added, gesturing to the gathering of mounted knights behind him.

Arthur nodded. "Cadan, you'll ride with me again. And trust Bors, as long as your brother is in Dag's hands he'll be just fine."

Arthur gave Cadan a reassuring smile that imbued the boy with confidence and managed to succeed in removing some of his obvious doubt.

Arthur lifted Cadan lightly into saddle before jumping up behind him, taking the reigns.

"Remember, keep it slow. I don't want Bedwyr to get any more bruises on his way to Camulodunum. We stick together, this is unfamiliar territory. I don't want to have to send out a search party because one of you gets himself lost." There was a snort from somewhere behind him which he suspected came from Tristan.

That said, he nudged his horse forward. Looking down, he saw Cadan looking back at his brother whose face was a mask of concentration as he battled to keep his seat and stop the pain from showing.

As they walked their horses back to the city the rode in pairs. Arthur next to Lancelot who was telling humorous tales to Cadan to try and ease his mind. Bors rode on one side of Dagonet and the injured boy with Galahad and Gawain on the other side. They too told stories they thought make the journey easier for the boy. They were rewarded for their efforts with the occasional twitch of Bedwyr's mouth, which was the closest he could get to a smile. But more common were winces and sharp intakes of breath, and Dagonet hoped the stitches would hold. Tristan as ever rode ahead.

And so they progressed, slowly but surely towards the city of Camulodunum.


	7. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything that isn't mine.

Thanks, **homeric** for reviewing again. I'm glad you like the story. I guess other people do too, because there are hits on the new chapters. It would be nice to hear from some of you. But then, I can't talk. I hardly ever review stories. I'll have to change that. Well, anyway, here's another chapter. The longest one so far. Hope it meets with your approval.

If anyone sees anything spelling/grammar mistakes please tell me. I have checked, but I always manage to miss something.

Since That Day

Chapter Six

They arrived at Camulodunum after dark. That night, nothing of import happened. Dagonet changed Bedwyr's bandages, with Cadan kneeling beside the bed, his eyes never leaving his brother's face. Arthur and the other knights retired to their beds, too preoccupied with their own thoughts to think even of food.

The next morning everyone gathered for breakfast, barring the two boys. They ate the meal in one of the Governor's extravagant guest rooms used for such things. For once Arthur could understand why his knights threw hate-filled glances about the room. As he looked around the room he baulked at the ostentatious display of wealth.

"How's the boy doing?" Arthur asked Dagonet, who was doing little but push the food about his plate.

"He's doing well enough. And that Cadan – it would take more than fire and high water to make him leave his brother's side 'til he knows he's on the mend," Dagonet paused, something obviously on his mind. "What are your plans for them? Whether any of us like it or not, they are involved now. And Cadan would be useful if ever we had to go back to the coast."

Whichever direction Arthur had been expecting the conversation to take, that had not been it. But then, Dagonet had a good point. Cadan could, probably would, prove useful if his knights agreed to his plan.

"If no one objects, I think that we should take the boys back up to the wall," Arthur waited for the response to this statement.

Dagonet seemed to be pleased with the answer. Bors, Galahad and Gawain also looked to be of Dagonet's mind. Arthur guessed that on Galahad's part he would be wallowing in the fact that on the journey home he would not be the youngest one there. Arthur had never quite managed to the bottom of why being the youngest bothered Galahad so much. Tristan's face was blank, although when he saw Arthur looking at him his nodded in what could only be agreement. Lancelot, however, seemed a little dubious.

"Lancelot?" Arthur said by way of inquiry.

"I don't know Arthur. The Wall is a long way from here. I don't think the injured one would be able to go that far."

"He could, too!" A sharp voice shouted from the doorway, and there stood Cadan, pale eyes flashing with indignation felt on behalf of his brother. "He came this far didn't he?"

Arthur turned to look at the boy. He face was grey with lack of sleep, but there was no denying the strength that lay dormant below the surface. Arthur had seen many a boy grow to be a useful soldier with much less. But such thoughts would do for later there were more pressing things to think about at present.

"What are you doing here? I thought you to be at your brother's side."

"Sir, Bedwyr's awake. Master Dagonet told me to tell him if his woke," Cadan spoke quickly and, after seeing Dagonet rise he turned and ran from the room, and away from the many staring faces that had brought the colour to his cheeks.

Dagonet followed the boy at a much calmer pace after a nod from Arthur, who was sure he would hear everything that he was about to say from Bors by the end of the day anyway.

"What are we to do now, Arthur? We can't leave now. Whoever it is attacking the villages won't stop at just that. They want land, and British land is good land. They'll land somewhere, set up camp and before anyone knows it they'll have gone from taking an inch to taking a mile."

There was an amazed silence, the same that always seemed to follow after Galahad rediscovered his brain and used it. Generally speaking, the youngest knight wasn't famed for his insightful analysis of precarious situations.

"You're right in what you say Galahad," Arthur told him before giving voice to the idea that had been growing in his mind since the night before. "That is why I think we need a detailed map of the area. There could be method in these attacks, and if there is we need to find it."

"And we find this pattern? What then?" Lancelot asked. "We ride off over land we don't know and attack an unidentified enemy?" he continued sarcastically.

"What's happens next depends on what we do or don't learn from the maps. I have an idea, but I don't want to say anything until I know it would be a plausible plan."

Lancelot reluctantly nodded. Arthur could tell that he and the others didn't like being kept in the dark, they never had. But he was firm in his decision not to say anything until he had something to reinforce his ideas and plans, which at that moment were still nothing but shadows in the back of his mind.

One by one the men rose from the table, each getting orders that sounded more like requests from Arthur. Tristan was asked to travel as far as possible from the city while still assuring a return before nightfall to acquaint himself with the land along the coast. Bors, Galahad and Gawain were to go in search of an all important map. Lancelot would accompany him on another confrontation with the Governor. Dagonet was still keeping watch over the boy and would most likely keep up his vigil until he fell asleep once again.

When he and Lancelot were ushered into the Governor's presence, Arthur noticed another in the room with him. It took him a while to recognise Larcius Ursus through the clean clothes.

"I trust your return journey went well?" Arthur asked the man.

"Very well. I am sorry to hear that there was another attack. But this time, there were survivors, yes?" Larcius appeared to show a genuine interest in the matter, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the obvious surprise on Lancelot's face at this.

"Two boys. I came to ask if there was anyone with any knowledge at all of who the attackers might be," Arthur answered.

Arthur waited for a reaction from one of the two men before him. After a long while Larcius shook his head, and from the look on his face Arthur felt inclined to believe. The Governor, on the other hand, looked uncomfortable for a couple of seconds before regaining his composure.

"How would I have any knowledge of those barbarians?" the Governor blistered and Arthur could almost imagine him puffing up invisible feathers.

"Then you know nothing of who made this trinket?" Arthur said as his pulled the strange necklace from a pouch at his belt.

"I am Tressius Aquila, Governor of this city. How could I possibly have any idea at all?" the Governor replied as though Arthur had somehow besmirched his honour.

"So, the Portly One has a name?" Arthur heard Lancelot mutter under his breath.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Governor Aquila and his aide heard the remark and it produced two very different responses. While Tressius Aquila's face turned a glowing red as he scowled at the dark knight it was obvious to both visitors that Larcius Ursus was fighting a raging battle with himself to stop himself from laughing.

"I was merely curious. I wondered if there was something you had neglected to tell us in our haste to go to the aid of Othona" Arthur said in his loudest, most commanding tone that demanded order from those who heard it.

The Governor stopped spluttering and Larcius regained the control of his facial muscles, which he used to set his lips in a thin, serious line. Larcelot, however, was smiling quiet contentedly and Arthur was reminded of the times when Lancelot had relentlessly taunted some of the younger Roman legionaries at the Wall. He did not want to have to experience those after effects again.

"No, there is nothing which I know and you do not," confirmed Aquila.

"In that case, there is no more reason for us to take up any more of your time. We shall leave you to your official duties as Governor of this great city," Arthur said as he turned to leave the room.

"Will you stay and help us drive them off for good?" Larcius asked, receiving a disapproving look from the Governor that Arthur couldn't interpret.

"The knights and myself will do all we can to put an end to these attacks," Arthur replied as he proceeded to leave the room, Lancelot a couple of steps behind him.

Neither of them stopped until they reached the quarters that they had been given for their stay. They were once more sat at the table, which had been cleared of all bowls and cups by some servant or other.

"Lancelot…" Arthur started, but he got no further with whatever it was he wanted to lecture the knight about.

"There's something wrong about that Governor," Lancelot was looking down at the table top, a strange expression clouding his face. "Something isn't quite right, but I don't know what it is," Lancelot finished, the first tremors of annoyance in his tone.

For a few minutes Arthur said nothing, jus sat regarding his old friend. He, too, thought that there was something more than a little odd about how the Governor had acted in the audience. But Arthur could think of no reason for the man's behaviour. Not one scrap of an idea that would give a good enough reason for the man to act the way he did. The old favourite of people trying to find an excuse – he didn't sleep well – wouldn't account for it, and he hadn't seen anything in the room that would imply that the Governor had been at his drink.

"Forget it, Lancelot," he said with a sigh. "This isn't the time to be unravelling the mystery of the mood swinging Governor of Camulodunum. They should be back a map by now," Arthur said changing topic as he craned his neck to look down the corridor that lead to the room for a sign of any of the three knights returning from their task.

"You don't think he's pregnant, do you?" Lancelot asked with a lazy laugh, which died at Arthur's bemused expression. "Our friend the Governor. Oh, never mind," Lancelot finished with a shake of his head.

Arthur saw Lancelot look at him as he drew a very particular type of breath. Arthur had many different ways of drawing breath, each one signifying what he was preparing himself to say. This one was the cue for some big question, or a mind-lowing revelation. It always made Lancelot a little uncomfortable when heard Arthur draw in a deep breath like that.

"Lancelot," Arthur stopped as he struggled to find the words to ask his question. "Lancelot, what happened to you while you were….gone?"

It was a question Arthur had been plagued with since he had seen his friend walk through the doorway. He hadn't asked it because the time was never right, there was too much else to think about on the journey, it was too early in the day, or too late. Or at least that was why Arthur told himself he hadn't asked Lancelot. But deep down he knew the real reason: he had been afraid of what Lancelot might say. He had been unsure of the territory. But now, he had finally gone through with the asking. And he would have to listen to whatever Lancelot said.

For a long while Lancelot sat quietly, his dark eyes looking anywhere by at Arthur's face. He could remember. He could bring to mind every second he had spent there, on the other side of the bridge. As yet, he wasn't sure whether or not it was a good thing, having those memories. He had spent a lot of his time wondering whether or not Dagonet and Tristan had been similarly afflicted. But he ended up with his hands empty of answers. Trying to read Tristan was like trying to red a brick wall and Dagonet always showed so many emotions Lancelot didn't know which ones were for himself and which ones were felt for others.

But at last he did answer Arthur's question, though all the while he looked like he was somewhere else, some distant place.

"There was a bridge. I think it was made of swords, for it seemed to reflect light as a polished blade would. Beneath my feet was nothing and water as the same time. At the other end of the bridge was an island. As I walked I felt like I was being ripped in two. Something was pulling me towards the island, but there was something trying to pull me back the way I had come. But the moment I set foot on the island it stopped, and when I turned back to look at the bridge it had gone.

"The island had seemed small from the bridge but now there was a sea of grass stretching out before me, as far as I could see and beyond. There was a stream on my left. I followed it. A couple of time I stopped to take a drink. The water was perfectly clear and a couple of mouthfuls was enough to quench the thirst."

Lancelot stopped, drawing in a deep breath of his own. For a while he was silent again, and Arthur couldn't bring himself to speak and break that silence.

"Then I saw this group of huts. I headed for them. When I reached them I saw the people. There were people there, Arthur. So many people. Some I knew from my childhood, some I didn't. My mother was there, but no one else. She told me many things. My father is getting old and stiff. My sister is married now and has two children," Lancelot broke off again. "I'm an uncle, Arthur!"

To Arthur, Lancelot seemed ecstatic about this. He was grinning and his eyes were dancing. Lancelot wasn't Bors; he had never relished the thought of being a father. It would get in his way. But that wasn't to say he hated children themselves. Apparently he liked the thought of being Mysterious Uncle Lancelot, though.

"She told me that they had thought about me every day. Prayed to the Gods for my health and good luck. It reminded me of how much I had missed them all," he stopped and looked at Arthur. "This country is all you have known. But for me, I cannot survive here while thinking of the family I have on the other side of the world. You saw what happened to Daray when he didn't stop thinking about his family. He just faded away. Nothing anybody could do to stop it."

Lancelot stopped himself and the train of thought he had been following. It wasn't good to think of such things to his mind, especially in a room so obviously Roman. Instead he continued talking, he voice so low that Arthur struggled to hear him.

"But then, just after I started to get used to things there, Merlin came. He told me things, and for all else I can remember, I cannot draw his words from my memory. So I came back. Feeling again like I was being split in two as I came back across the bridge. And then I woke up covered in dirt!" he stopped and glared a momentarily sheepish Arthur. "I still have dirt under my nails!" he stopped again and raised his hands with his palms facing him.

Arthur didn't look at Lancelot's nails; he was too busy looking at his eyes trying to work out how he felt about what had happened to him.

"How d'you feel about all this?" Arthur asked hesitantly.

"You know what Arthur? I don't know how I feel," Lancelot said after a long moment's thought. "It was good there, aye, it was. And it was good seeing my mother again, even under those circumstances," Lancelot continued, ignoring Arthur's raised eyebrow. "But, I felt detached somehow. Like the first day at the fort, surrounded by al the Romans in their shining armour. I didn't belong there. Not yet anyway. But at the same time, it's weird being back. So much has happened," he explained, looking pointedly at Arthur. "But no, Arthur, as good as it was, I don't plan on returning any time soon. Too many pretty girls here."

In an instant Lancelot had closed the doors to his feelings, and was once again the Lancelot most took him to be.

It was just then that Bors, Galahad and Gawain marched into the room, oblivious to what had been going on before their arrival.

"We've found your map, Arthur. But I'll be damned if I can read it," Bors stated loudly, dumping the article on the table and sitting down.

Dagonet walked in a few minutes later, tailed by Cadan. It must mean his brother was doing as well as might be expected and Dagonet had drawn him back into the real world, probably with the promise of a hot meal.

Arthur gave Lancelot one last, searching look and then turned his attention to the map as the others took a seat at the table.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

_It is early spring now. The first green is returning to the trees. But that is not the real news at all. _

_The news is this: my father has ordered that the army be gathered, that the Lords bring their men to Isca Dumnonium. I am not sure what he plans, and I do not think I want to know. _

_I visit my grandfather's grave every day. Often I see familiar faces there, the old and the young. It is heartening that they haven't yet forgotten him. He deserves to be remembered. So do all the others who have passed away over the years, but no more of that. I have more writing to do if I am going to finish this before my hair has turned grey._


End file.
